


Derek chooses to chase

by stilinskisoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, redo of a scene from 1x2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“What if he comes back?”</p><p>“Then we get the hell outta here.”</p><p>“What if he catches us?”</p><p>“I have a plan for that,” Stiles responds with a half shrug.</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“You run one way, I run the other—whoever he catches first, too bad.”</p><p>“I hate that plan.”</p><p>(...)</p><p>“What do you think you're doing?” comes a low growl from not too afar. The teenagers dart their gazes toward the source of the voice to see an intimidating dark shadow. They are staring at it for a handful of seconds, until both of their minds register that it's <i>Derek</i>. They only waste more time to pay each other a look before running off in two opposite directions—just sticking to Stiles' plan."</p><p>Or, what would happen if Derek came back on them digging in his backyard? If Derek chased down one of them? Redo of the scene from 1x2 which resulted in Derek being arrested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek chooses to chase

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Derek approaches his car. A few moments later he's opening the door with ease and a slight sass in the movement then sits in and brings the engine to life. After switching on the headlights, he drives away.

Soon after that, a blue Jeep pulls up near the burnt down house and Scott and Stiles hop out of it. Scott grabs a backpack and a shovel, while Stiles has a spade and a flashlight on him that was handed to him by Scott along with the bag. He immediately uses it to illuminate the walls of the creepy, haunted-like house. The white spot of light zigzags over the dark wood.

“Something's different,” Scott says in a quick voice.

“Different how?” Stiles asks.

“I don't know,” comes the reply, and the two boys climb their way up to the backyard of the remnants of the once stunning house. “Just get this over with,” Scott demands, lifting his shovel and thrusting it into the dusty ground with anticipation. Stiles drops the backpack, places the flashlight on the ground so they can see what they are doing, before joining his friend to help him dig the hole in Derek's backyard.

They have been working for a long time, approximately one and a half hour, and a clumsy hole was formed meanwhile in the ground. Both of them are nearly out of breath, making moves with a pant following along. The sounds of the night are surrounding them, with all the cicadas chirring and an owl hooting. Apart from the flashlight the Moon gives them light otherwise, through dark indigo clouds. After tossing an amount of earth out of the dug hole, Scott breaks the silence that has floated in between them a long while ago.

“This is taking way too long,” he says, shoving his shovel in again.

“Just keep goin',” Stiles says in an instant, never taking even a beat of pause in the work.

“What if he comes back?”

“Then we get the hell outta here.”

“What if he catches us?”

“I have a plan for that,” Stiles responds with a half shrug.

“Which is?”

“You run one way, I run the other—whoever he catches first, too bad.”

“I hate that plan.”

Stiles throws another amount of dust out of the hole, and when he's about to get another on his spade, the metal material collides against something.

“Alright, stop, stop, stop” he chants, moving his left arm toward Scott to prevent him from continuing the digging process. Stiles drops his shovel on the ground and cowers, followed by Scott a mere second later after he had got rid of his own spade. The two boys start unfastening the knots after wiping the leftover dust away from the surface of it.

“Hurry!” Scott urges impatiently, a clear ringing of worry in his voice.

“Yeah, I'm trying but did he have to tie the thing with like nine hundred knots?”

“I'll do it.”

Once all of the restraints are off, they lift the cover only to be startled by a head of a wolf staring at them with silver glassy eyes and a tongue flickered out of its mouth. They jump out of the hole immediately with Stiles shouting like a frantic idiot in fright.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, his voice hoarse and harsh.

“It's a wolf.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I thought you said you smelled blood. As in human blood?” That last sentence sounds more like a question.

“Told you something was different.”

“This doesn't make sense,” Stiles points out, flailing his right hand fiercely around in the air, keeping his eyes firmly on the animal head awhile.

“We gotta get outta here,” Scott more like orders than offers, and Stiles has to agree.

“Yeah. 'Kay, help me cover this up,” he says and grasps the handle of the spade, but stops moving eventually. Scott of course notices it and asks him.

“What's wrong?”

“You see that flower?”

“What about it?”

“I think it's wolfsbane.” Scott gives him a confused expression before asking.

“What's that?” Stiles makes a suppressed bubbling sound before turning his face to Scott and giving him an 'are you for real, dude' look.

“Haven't you ever seen _The Wolf Man_?”

“No,” Scott answers in a whisper, shaking his head in denial.

“Lon Chaney Jr.? Calude Rains.” Scott drops his head, his breathing fast and anxious. “The original classic werewolf movie?” Stiles asks impatiently, clenching his lips tightly together afterwards, his face now reflecting the 'I don't believe you' look.

“No, what?” Scott asks frantically and Stiles shakes his head.

“You're so unprepared for this.” He doesn't even finish the sentence before standing and stalking his way over to the bluish-purple flower. He grabs it by its base, his warm breath available in the reflection of the flashlight in the cold air, then pulls it out of the ground only to be puzzled by the sight of a rope appearing. He begins to keep pulling it out, with Scott following all of his movements with his two chestnut-colored puppy eyes. Stiles walks in circling spirals around the hole and Scott's body is twisting and turning to be able to keep watching him.

And of course that is the moment when everything goes wrong.

“What do you think you're doing?” comes a low growl from not too afar. The teenagers dart their gazes toward the source of the voice to see an intimidating dark shadow. They are staring at it for a handful of seconds, until both of their minds register that it's _Derek_. They only waste more time to pay each other a look before running off in two opposite directions—just sticking to Stiles' plan.

Stiles is dashing toward his Jeep, but he doesn't dare to stop to open it and get inside. It would take too much time and he knows himself enough to know he would definitely have to spend a sad amount of time searching for the key of the car frantically, because he would _definitely_ drop it in the rush. And oh my God, he can hear the footsteps behind himself clearly. The sound of twigs breaking are also a good indication in this matter.

It's just he wouldn't have thought that he would actually turn out to be the one chased down instead of Scott.

Because, honestly, what could Derek possibly want from _him_? A tiny harmless human being? He's already in the woods, among the trees, and he hopes that the vegetation will be enough for him to stay hidden from Derek's eyes. He's proven wrong when his body is dragged viciously backwards momentarily in a wicked hitch, then the next thing he knows is that he's face-first pinned against a tree. He gasps and merely manages out a few whines and wheezing sounds due to the strong pressure against his spine between his shoulder blades. Maybe it shouldn't have been him to grab the wolfsbane. And now all the supernatural werewolf powers could kindly go and fuck themselves, thank you very much.

“Okay, you got me,” he starts to say, lifting both of his hands up in surrender. “Now you can let go of me and just let us talk—” He's cut off by Derek tugging him away from the bole only to shove him back against it in an attempt to shut him up. Stiles chokes out a gasp when his chest hits the crust again. “Okay, no chance for a diplomatic way of solving the case, got it,” he dares to say, and the response he gets is Derek snarling right into his ear, his voice is a low grumble, similar to what the sky sounds like before a storm. Stiles shivers. Some faint pale beams of the silver Moon reach down to the dry leaf-covered forest floor. Autumn makes its presence obvious by making the air chilly and Stiles can still see his warm puffs of breath he manages to choke out. His temple is still glittering by the sweat covering his skin due to his previous work which was to dig out a supposed half body of a _human girl_ , not a wolf.

Derek's body is close enough to Stiles' to let him feel the heat that's radiating from the werewolf's body, but not close enough for the two of them to be touching. Stiles can see from the corner of his eye that Derek's lips are clenched tightly—Stiles assumes it's in sake of suppressing anger. If so, then that ominous anger must be pretty huge, because Stiles can catch a glimpse of an illuminative electric blue eye. In a blink, though, it's gone.

Stiles is still panting, partly due to all of the physical job he was doing (including the 'dashing away from the obviously murderously pissed werewolf' scenario) and partly because of the fist that's still plastering his chest against the tree relentlessly. He honestly has no idea why Derek is keeping him there and what his intentions are. Stiles' gaze is fixed on his little cloud of breath as it's floating upwards, then he gets tired of the silence and just _has to_ break it already.

“So, are you gonna do something, talk at me, kill me, choke me to death with your fist, or what? Because if you don't wanna do anything, you could let go of me, y'know. It's hella cold outta here and I'm clearly lack of a bath,” Stiles babbles, but of course, he's not given a verbal answer. No. Instead, Derek leans closer to Stiles, and now his broad chest ghosts against the teenager's back. It makes Stiles' breath to hitch and stick in his throat while his mouth is still gaping open. He moves his eye to be able to peek at the werewolf again, whose other hand is now gliding lightly against the small of his back and just— _what. the. Hell._

Stiles' jeans are starting to feel gradually tighter and tighter by each passing second and it's getting equally more and more torturing for him. He really needs to get away from here, to get home as soon as possible so he can jerk off a few times thinking of Derek pinning him against the tree. And when he's done, maybe a few more bonus wouldn't hurt. Oh yeah, and he could be as vocal as he wants, because his Dad has a night shift tonight. How perfect.

Not so perfect that he irresponsibly let his thoughts to wander to a dangerous forbidden area, where they weren't supposed to go, at least not right now—it's clearly not helping with his current issue in connection with what is going on in his pants at the moment. His breathing fastens up just a tiny bit, and his wheezes earn a higher pitch that is hardly audible. Maybe if Derek was a human, he wouldn't have heard them either. And he would definitely _not_ be able to smell the coaxing scent of arousal on Stiles. But he's not a human, and he can hear every change and sense the sexual tension perfectly.

His lips part just a bit and he uses his hand, that is still on the small of Stiles' back, to push the teenager's hips more against he crust only to earn a choked out gasp that the boy immediately suppresses. It is exactly the reaction Derek was expecting and it makes him smirk. He isn't even putting any effort into biting it away. He keeps his hooded eyes on Stiles, being well aware that his eyes are glowing icy blue again, this time with fangs involved. It causes him to pull his upper lip up in an involuntary snarl again.

Stiles is about to say something again, but Derek doesn't want to hear it, so he decides to shut him up. And the best method to do it is to shove his hips against Stiles' ass and pin the boy's pelvis between his and the bole. Stiles moans loudly, and now that is definitely something Derek _craves_ to hear as much as possible. He's not letting this kid go for sure. Not until he's finished with him.

While his fist is still keeping his body in place, Derek's other hand starts to massage circles into Stiles' pale skin through his layers of clothes. After an amount of time Derek's hand wanders under the flannel shirt and he's fascinated by the warmness of the boy's body. He clearly enjoys it, and this fact can't be faded away by the touch of the sweaty and damp fabric that Stiles is wearing.

Derek's mouth is right behind Stiles' neck. He doesn't dare to touch and taste him just yet, though—he's afraid he might lose control of himself, letting his inner beast to take the initiative, which would most likely result in Stiles being harmed by his sharp fangs. His inner wolf is always relentless and lustful, no matter what the situation is.

The thing that _does_ drive him insane, is that he can feel Stiles rutting his hips against the tree in frantic movements, obviously seeking release. Derek is impressed that Stiles isn't ashamed to do it in front of him. Maybe Stiles isn't aware what effect that has on him, which is a great mistake. Now Derek has to unchain his instincts, he can't follow his common sense after realizing this, no, the most definitely _no_.

He makes this animal sound in the back of his throat, which is directed right into Stiles' ear. It chases out another whine from his being, and Derek must love it because it urges him to bite and tease the kid's ear, be fangs or not. The pointed tip of it glides against the heated pale skin, and it makes Stiles shiver modestly, letting out a breathy moan awhile. Derek's hand quickly travels from the small of Stiles' back to his front and grabs him through his jeans.

Stiles' head falls backwards, it is now resting on Derek's shoulder. This position allows the werewolf to hear all the pleasure-created sounds of Stiles from up-close. A litany of colorful curses peppers those sounds when Derek's hand pops the button and unzips the boy's jeans, his hand descending into it in no time. He palms at Stiles through his boxer briefs (which turn out to be black after Derek allows himself a glance downwards), before getting bored of it ultimately and surges his hand inside, eager to feel his skin on Stiles'. Skin to skin contact is somehow more intimate for him.

One of Stiles' hand is scraping the brown dry crust of the tree, while the other is etching pinkish-red lines into the skin on Derek's neck. The werewolf growls—his inner wolf enjoys this vicious reaction _way too much_. He can't help but imagine how Stiles would behave if they were actually having sex. Maybe he would be marking Derek's back with his nails as he's thrusting into him in a fast pace, and Derek would definitely bite him on as many places as he can reach, including giving him a hickey on his neck to mark Stiles as _his_.

Derek's inner possessive wolf gains satisfaction at that thought. Also, on the other hand, it has the animal raging on and hungry for more.

Derek is already jacking Stiles hard and fast. The images he has in his head are driving him nuts and urge him to go unbound on the teenager, his fangs finding their way into his skin the next second. That was unintended on his part, but it can no longer be changed and he chooses to sink them deeper, considering it's never mind now. Stiles chokes out an impossibly high pitched scream and reaches for Derek's dark strands of hair with his other hand, this way losing all of the support the tree was giving him. His long fingers tug on Derek's hair frantically, painfully even, but Derek couldn't care less about that. He may be a little masochistic, but that thought proves not to be enough for him to feel like a total creep. Perhaps it can be blamed on the damn sexual tension he's wrapped up in, behaving like a stupid teenager with raging hormones. Because let's face it: a responsible adult rarely jacks off someone in the woods at night.

Stiles' hips begin to chant upwards into his fist soon, making Derek growl again and giving away the fact that Stiles is so, so close. Derek's eyes are illuminating again in the glorious color of blue, and he releases Stiles' skin from the tight clench of his jaw. He generously licks down the trail of blood from the teenager's neck, his tongue sliding over the pulsing jugular vein during the procedure. It makes his head spin, thinking of all the possibilities he could do to make it race even faster. Derek can't believe he was reduced into a sex-longing teenager simply by Stiles' intoxicating scent.

Yet, he can't bring himself to care.

Stiles whites out against the tree with a shaky, half-breathy moan, his nails suddenly digging deeply into Derek's neck and drawing blood as he tugs them involuntarily due to a frantic twitch of pleasure. Derek could groan at the pain he's receiving from the other hand as it's squeezing and pulling his hair, but he's too busy paying attention to the sounds _Stiles_ is making—all the pants, wheezes, whines, and struggling noises to suck as much air into his lungs as possible. His body is leaning boneless against Derek's, and their hot breaths are tickling over the other's neck and ear.

Soon Stiles lets go of Derek's neck and slides his fingers over his skin gently, in a playful and almost teasing manner, as if his intention was to seduce Derek.

“Why did I get that?” he stutters out, his voice a mere whisper, if not less than that. It has something velvet in it, something that makes it sound like a softly floating substance that surrounds Derek and drags him in, draining him of his common sense and his brain of its reasoning ability, leaving him only with his instincts and _wants_ , both of those fucked up by this kid.

As a response, Derek only growls in frustration and pulls his hand out from Stiles' boxer briefs, raising it to his mouth and licking it clean. After he's done, he takes his time to nuzzle his cheek into the crook of Stiles' neck reflexively. He realizes what he's actually doing after a few moments, but even then, he doesn't feel ashamed nor find any hint of regret inside him for _scenting_ Stiles. So he just takes his time with it.

“Don't dare to tell anyone what just happened,” he says eventually, after pulling away completely from the teenager. Stiles turns around and looks at him. Derek has to admit that the boy looks just edible—his huge eyes are widened in surprise and slight confusion, the amber color is still hardly noticeable in his eyes due to his dilated pupils, his beautiful lips are obscenely parted and the zipper of his jeans is still open. That last one especially keeps Derek concerned, but he's doing his best to vanish that thought out of his mind.

“W-what?” Stiles chokes out in a weak voice. Derek inhales deeply to even himself out, but it turns out to be a profoundly bad idea, because his wolf starts raging viciously again, willing to do more with Stiles, and that definitely does _not_ involve letting him go right now, which Derek is doing.

“Just keep it a damned secret,” he says, and with that he disappears from Stiles' sight.

Stiles sighs exasperatedly. How the hell will he explain to Scott the scent of come on him? And again: fuck werewolf skills.


End file.
